


Seraphine

by yeettoss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts, Quidditch, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeettoss/pseuds/yeettoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer is over, the Tri-Wizard Tournament is here, and Seraphine Molloy's reoccurring nightmares might not be the only thing coming to life this year... </p><p>SET IN HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. delegations

**01 - delegations**

 

—

 

The waves slapped against the hull of the ship, and saltwater spilt across the deck in flurries of white. Below the weather-worn deck, the council quarters, where the students sat, was silent. Candelabras swung in time with the tide, arcing light across the once opulent room in dizzying oscillations. The room had an air of decomposing grandeur, with dusty tapestries, heavy silverware and the potent smell of rotting fish. The portholes that peppered the walls of the cabin offered little to see but the light of the moon against the crashing waves, and then nothing but pressing darkness as the ship was swallowed by the ocean. 

The lurch of the ship descending further beneath the wild water sent students falling into one another with scowls and muttered apologies. Tucked into a large armchair that smelt strongly of seawater, Seraphine was concentrating very hard on not being violently sick. She was trying to distract herself with memories of summer at the family estate in Kenmare, but the freezing chill of the council quarters and the steady drip of a leak in the roof punctured the idilic scene she had managed to conjure in her mind of the gardens that stretched for miles past the boundaries of the estate. When she was not required to study with her tutors, or needed by either of her parents, or busy practising with her Uncle Avis, Seraphine spent her time with her Aunt Ida in the expansive grounds. Aunt Ida was a famous astronomer, and had instilled her passion for the stars in Seraphine. She talked endlessly about the muggle observatories in New Zealand, her home in the south of France and, for no particular reason, the importance of good cheese sandwiches.

Summer lunches were a family affair. And with her parents, older brother and sister Eagan and Emilie, Aunties Ida and Asteria, as well as Uncle Avis and her two older cousins Daniel and Lillian, these meals could be rather crowded inside the formal dining room on the second floor. They were always held outside due to this reason, no matter the weather. Seraphine could remember a spectacularly wet luncheon that took place three summers ago in the pouring rain that had ended in an impromptu game of _How-Many-Times-Can-You-Flick-Pudding-At-Your-Father-Without-Being-Noticed_. The flower garden was the family’s favourite place to sit. The scent of the honeysuckle and lavender would hang heavy in the air as they ate their way through powdered macaroons, roast lamb sandwiches, cream scones and ginger-nut biscuits. After a rather long lunch — to which, _unfailingly_ , the ensemble swore they would never eat again only to show up promptly on time for dinner — Aidan Lynch would arrive for their private flying lessons…

A splintering noise shattered Seraphine’s daydream of quaffles and broomsticks and she was thrown back into the bleak reality of the Durmstrang ship. The pressure of the ocean bowed against the wooden deck, and steady streams of seawater leaked through fissures in the walls. She could hear Poliakoff complaining loudly to Krum about the rapidly dropping temperature in the quarters, although all she heard was a disinterested grunt in reply. Unlike everyone else, Iliya, who sat in a neighbouring armchair, was completely relaxed. _The bastard_ , Seraphine thought bitterly. He had his feet propped up against a fraying ottoman, and was leisurely flipping through Blatherney’s Encyclopaedia to Bat Eyes, a desperately dull novel that he had been engrossed in for the past two days of their uncomfortable crossing. His face was a picture of serenity as he pretended he couldn’t hear the sickening _splatter_ of a fellow student throwing up nearby. However, his carefully arranged facade of calm was undermined by an irritable twitch under his jaw, hinting he was not quite as oblivious to the discomfort of the travel arrangements as he wanted to appear.

Seraphine’s own book, Beating the Bludgers - A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch, had been abandoned long ago, as the rolling ocean tested her stomachs resolve to remain calm. None of the other students seemed to be doing any better, all varying stages of ill, and a muted attitude had befallen the occupants of the ship. Seraphine remained slouched in her armchair, her fur coat drawn up to her chin, watching as her breath formed translucent clouds in the frigid air. The whole arrangement was entirely ridiculous. Every student aboard the hell-vessel could Apparate competently, but Karkaroff was insistent on ‘making an entrance’.  However, they had yet to see the elusive Headmaster as he had disappeared into his cabins and remained there for the past two days, and had failed to appear at meal times. 

The Triwizard Tournament. It had been the endless source of gossip for most of the previous year at school, and even back in Kenmare there had been an air of excited anticipation. Despite all the fuss, Seraphine couldn’t quite understand why she was really here. There had been plenty of other, _better_ , students at Durmstrang, yet she had been selected through a series of complicated tests throughout her fifth year, which had ended in an elaborate duelling competition that had lasted nearly a month. Iliya had been given his position in Karkaroff’s handpicked contenders for his talent for non-verbal wandwork. Poliakoff, Evensted and Dokken were chosen for their powerful charms. Dotseth and Krum were fantastically nimble on brooms, and Ekern wasn’t too shabby either, and Almer, Bergerson, Carbin and Dahl could win on their brute strength alone. As the only girl on the small platter of geniuses, celebrities and powerful wizards, Seraphine couldn’t understand how she managed to fit in. She was intelligent, and good at charm work, but there were hundreds of other students that matched, if not hilariously, outstripped her. And yet despite her doubts, all which had been met with flying colours, she was on her way to Hogwarts. 

Seraphine knew a lot about the ancient castle. Her father, Atticus, had gone there as a boy. Her Father had entertained many stormy evenings with stories about the classes, missing steps in staircases and walls that pretended to be doors. There were Forbidden Forests and curfews and puddings that towered several meters above students heads. Secret passageways and rooms that vanished if they felt the need to be spontaneous. Hidden entrances to common rooms and the kitchens. An owlery, a gamekeepers hut and a glassy black lake that stretched for miles. Yet Seraphine’s Father loved to talk about the Great Hall’s ceiling most of all. He described it as a view into the heavens,  _“It was magic like I had never imagined, my dear”_. He often spoke about Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster, in great detail and contrast. Stunningly brilliant, yet burdened by childhood trauma. Compassionate, yet short-sighted in his conviction that everyone had the capacity to be _good_. Seraphine had never met Dumbledore herself, despite all she knew about him, and she couldn’t help the anticipation that warmed her all the way to her frozen toes.

The floor tilted at an unnatural angle, and everything in the compartment slid to the right, toppling over. Seraphine let herself grin even with the predicament of the moment when she saw that Dokken had been swept right off his feet by a heavy looking set of loose drawers. _Serves him right_ , she thought happily. Iliya had finally put down his stupid book and was peering around the cabin as though he had only just noticed that everything was sideways. He smothered his laughter at Seraphine’s panicked expression as the ship quickly righted itself and she was sent sprawling back into her chair. She focused on calming her stomach as she rearranged her limbs with as much dignity as she had left. Somewhere in the compartment Almer was being sick again. 

“It tends to help if you stick your head between your knees.” Iliya said. 

“Piss off, Vanko.” Almer’s voice was without malice and Iliya let out a derisive snort at his braced position. 

“How come you’re not feeling wretched like the rest of us?” Seraphine grumbled. 

“Because I’m so much better than you lot.” He waved a beckoning hand at the basket of food that was stashed under Seraphine’s armchair. 

“Pass the cauldron cakes. Thanks. Since you’re being so generous with them I’ll admit I was lying before. Actually, I had the foresight to take a Seasickness Potion before boarding.” 

The corners of Seraphine’s mouth twitched uncontrollably, yet she couldn’t help roll her eyes at his behaviour. It was typical of Iliya.  

He was simultaneously the worst and best friend she had ever had. He was sarcastic and rude and almost always managed to say the right things to get on her nerves, but Seraphine had never met someone who was so fiercely loyal. He was arrogant to hide the wounds of an unsatisfactory childhood of parents who were not quite ready for a child of their own and an indifferent house elf. Seraphine had tried countless times to explain that Milena and Nikolay loved Iliya, but not in a way he could understand. He ignored her, which was fair. Iliya was bitter about his parents, and Seraphine accepted that it was something she would never be able to understand. When his sister came along, when Iliya was seven, he expected Milena and Nikolay to treat her with the same lack of concern. He’d been completely wrong, of course. Silvija, only just born, had become the most precious object in the world for his parents, and he tried to hate her for it. For weeks he had refused to touch her, or be in the same room when his mother enchanted the scraps of material she worked on to swirl around her as a sundial on the living room floor, just to hear her laugh. But inevitably, Silvija was the sun, and Iliya’s life began to rotate around her in a comfortable pattern.

Seraphine’s irritation at her best friend was quickly forgotten as an uncomfortable swooping sensation, accompanied by the thundering roar of rushing water, reverberated throughout the cabin. This time even Iliya had to grab something to stop himself from falling from his seat. They were the only lucky ones. The rest of the Durmstrang representatives found themselves smacking into door frames or tripping over various overturned furniture items. Iliya sent her a wicked grin as Gavril Poliakoff got tangled up in a musty old tapestry and ended up flopping like a caught trout across the floor. The huge ship shuddered and rocked violently, and Seraphine was sure that it would break. Yet with an ear-splitting groan, it was finally above the water. Seraphine let out the breath she had been holding, and let herself relax into her chair. Karkaroff’s sharp footsteps echoed down the hall the moment the swaying ceased, and there was a great rush as they all fumbled with adjusting heavy cloaks and smoothing straggly hair. There was a bit of confusion as Dokken and Carbin got their cloaks mixed up, and then Karkaroff was towering over everyone, his inky black goatee oiled into a sharp point. His eyes lingered on Ekern’s crumpled uniform and Dotseth’s cloak which was fastened under his left ear but did nothing but purse his lips into a thin white line. 

“Hurry up.” He commanded, sweeping out of the cabin in a flash of silver furs. His words were met with a scramble of activity as everyone tried to get out of the cabin at the same time. Seraphine fell into line behind Iliya who was behind Viktor who was sneezing rather rapidly into a deteriorating tissue. 

“Feeling okay?” Iliya queried, passing on Seraphine’s handkerchief which she had quickly produced from the folds of her robes. Viktor took the hankie with a nod towards her, mopping his nose. 

“I don’t like boats.” He replied simply, ushering Seraphine and Iliya past him with a jerky wave. Seraphine gave him a sympathetic smile as she passed him, following Iliya through the endless panelled corridors and up to the moonlit deck. 

Her first thought was that British weather was not suited to the heavy Durmstrang uniform, as it was a lot milder than she had been expecting. The second was of awe. Her first impression of Hogwarts was of miles and miles of green sloping lawn leading up to the largest castle she had ever seen. She found it hard to keep her balance on the rocking deck whilst trying to see where the towering structure ended in the evening sky. There were hundreds of grey spires, all vaulting for the atmosphere, and welcoming golden light spilled from every window. With another barked command from Karkaroff, Seraphine and the rest of the students followed their Headmaster at a trot off the ship and across the grass. Seraphine hurried to keep up with Carbin and Bergerson’s long strides, puffing wildly as they drew closer to the light of the castle. It was much more impressive up close. Seraphine peered past the hundreds of Hogwarts students that had massed on steps leading up to an enormous Entrance Hall, catching a glimpse of enormous stone statues and a large banner embroidered with the Hogwarts crest waving gently even though there was no breeze. The incline had Iliya sweating and swearing and Seraphine grinned at his red face even though she was practically cooking alive under her own furs. Row after row of pale faces with curious stares greeted them as they came to a stop at the foot of the castle. Whispers rippled through the crowd of Hogwarts students and Seraphine tried to avoid their probing eyes. She stuck close to Iliya, all but pressing against him, their feet getting tangled as they lined up behind Karkaroff who was embracing a very old man. The wizard was very tall and skinny and had a very long beard. _How can he eat with that thing in the way?_ She thought, and instantly, she dissolved into barely concealed giggles. Iliya shot her a questioning look, which she ignored, and she wiped away tears of mirth from her eyes. 

“How good it is to be here, how good…” Karkaroff gave a sardonic smile, his yellow teeth flashing in the light pouring from inside the great oak doors. 

“Viktor, come along, into the warmth…you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…” By now, the Hogwarts students made no effort to conceal their excited chattering once they saw Viktor who was reluctantly making his way to Karkaroff’s side. Seraphine covered her grin and followed after the scowling older boy. Dumbledore acknowledged each of them as they went up the steps to his castle with a polite nod. It was only as she passed him that she caught the sparkling light in his eyes and wondered how he had ever managed to befriend one of the greatest murderers in Europe, and teach the other. 

 

—

 

The feast was the largest Seraphine had ever attended. Everything — from the decorations hanging from the stone walls to the dishes — was overly extravagant, rich in taste and lavishly presented. At Durmstrang, the kitchens had favoured plain dishes of salted fish and rice and rarely bothered with trivial comforts such as napkins that unfolded by themselves into the laps of each witch and wizard and goblets that always remained full, no matter the amount one drank. Seraphine was unused to such opulent affairs as she had rarely attended the yearly Yuletide party held in her hometown by her jovial Uncle Avis, preferring to stay at the estate and listen to the Wizarding Wireless with her older sister Emelie and cousin Lillian, getting inebriated on liqueur chocolates. 

She was sure she had never seen so much food in her entire life. There were dozens of courses, ranging from wildflower soups and delicate savoury tarts that crumbled beneath careless fingers to tureens of thick stews spiced with star-anise and cinnamon. Seraphine was squeezed between Viktor and Iliya at one of the long tables, both who didn’t quite understand personal space, although she suspected Iliya was sitting so close just to annoy her. Viktor spent the meal in relative silence, sneezing occasionally and answering questions about his career to an oddly eager fan to his left between mouthfuls of braised pork.

They had all shed their cloaks as soon as was appropriate, and Seraphine’s was stuffed beneath the long wooden bench of the table that she sat at, tangled around her ankles. She had barely gotten around to eating much apart from a pot of soup that sat directly in front of her, too distracted by the enchanted ceiling and too tired to fall into one of the many conversations circling around the table. Underneath the evening sky, a thousand candles illuminated the Hall, casting everything into a buttery golden light. Madam Maxime, the Beauxbatons Headmistress, had a thick row of opals gleaming from her throat that gave her an ethereal air even with her exaggerated height, and Dumbledore’s half-moon spectacles seemed to flash every time he turned his head. And just in front of where her Karkaroff and the rest of the Heads of school sat was a large cup full to the brim with dancing blue flames. Seraphine knew she had never seen something so beautiful yet terrifying. She wasn’t quite sure when it had started, but she had always been wary of fire. It seemed so destructive for something so captivating, and she had horrible memories of her brother teasing her with stories about a man from Kent who had been messing around with a Fiendfyre and had melted half his face off.

“And where do you spend your summers, Seraphine?” The thin boy who had been relentlessly questioning Iliya about his life in Bulgaria had finally turned his attention to Seraphine. She had grown tired of his continued tirade of _pure bloodlines_ , and _family_ and _legacy_ and had tuned him out ages ago. 

“Ireland.” Seraphine replied, taking a small spoonful of soup to her mouth to avoid further questioning. She had completely forgotten the boys name, and was starting to feel sick at all the talk about purging the wizarding population. It seemed as though she had landed herself at a table full of students no worse than Durmstrang’s purity fanatics. 

“Ah, excellent. I thought I heard an accent.” The boy grinned. Seraphine nodded politely and returned to her meal. The boy was talking again, “—must know the Askari’s. Quite a popular lot, although Lord Askari’s brother-in-law’s sister is a bit mad.”

Iliya opened his mouth to protest at the boys words, but a sharp jab of her elbow into his ribs stopped him. Seraphine smiled sarcastically at the pale boy who had just insulted her Aunt. 

“Sorry, who are you?” Seraphine said, not sounding sorry at all. Half the table who were in ear-shot of the scathing exchange had turned to listen, and even Viktor had paused in between mouthfuls, watching Seraphine with interest. 

“Adrian Pucey.” The boys hand extended across the table, and for a moment, Seraphine was tempted not to take it. She took it and let go with rapid speed, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her napkin in her lap.

“Have you ever met Lord Molloy’s sister?” She questioned casually, buttering a piece of bread which Iliya had offered her with a warning glance that clearly meant _don’t do anything that going to get us both in trouble_. 

“No, but my Mother does have the best stories. Apparently this sister of his almost blew up a mine last Winter, and was found hours later running through a field in plain sight of the muggles chanting and waving her wand about.” He said witheringly with a smirk, seemingly pleased that Seraphine was bothering to finally participate in a conversation after her silence for most of the night. She seethed in silent anger. She remembered that day. Her Aunt Ida had been containing a revengeful group of Goblins who had wondered into Kenmare and had ended up chasing them through a field, away from the Estate.  

“I don’t suppose you have met them? I’ve heard they have this enormous estate down in the south of Ireland.” 

“Yes, I do suppose I have. Lord Askari _is_ my Uncle after all.” 

Iliya outright laughed at Seraphine’s withering tone, and Pucey flushed a deep red from his neck to his ears and the conversation promptly dissolved.

The rest of the feast was considerably awkward after that. The talk of families disapparated with Pucey who, at some point, excused himself from the table to go to the loo and never returned. The rest of the table turned to other topics and Seraphine found herself in a fierce debate with Viktor about the Irish Seeker from the World Cup. 

“—vood it been you, you vood haff done the same.” Viktor grumbled, his eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. 

“Oh yes, I would have definitely let my only good flight instructor plough himself into the ground at a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour.” The sarcasm in Seraphine’s tone was palpable to the Hogwarts and Durmstrang students in the vicinity who were watching Viktor with interest. “I haven’t been able to go flying for weeks because of you!” She accused, wielding her spoon like a sword against a particularly offensive piece of Yorkshire pudding. Viktor shrugged offhandedly but the corners of his mouth twitched. 

“No fault of mine, you chose sub-standard man to teach you how to fly ven he cannot turn his broomstick properly.” 

“Те изчисти носа встрани от центъра.” _They_ _reset_ _your_ _nose_ _off_ _centre_.Seraphine huffed in an undertone, slipping into Bulgarian to shield her insult from nosey Hogwarts students who, from all tables, were craning their necks to get a good look at the famous Quidditch player next to her. Viktor muffled a loud snort of laughter in his cup of pumpkin juice, and Seraphine let a tiny smirk grace her lips before she turned away to watch the remains of her meal fade from the glistening golden plates, only to be almost immediately replaced with dessert.

They both lapsed into silence as they each helped themselves to a selection of the array of delicacies lining the long table. Seraphine listened in as Iliya and Theo Carbin, an extremely tall and good-looking friend of his, chatted animatedly about the Tournament. Apparently, Carbin had been doing some research. 

“Who do you think will be the champion selector this time?” Iliya was asking. Seraphine turned her head slightly, watching the two boys just about bounce up and down in their seats with excitement. 

“Emil is under the impression that each Head will choose their own student, but I think there vill be a test.” Theo jerked his thumb down the table to Emil Bergerson, an exceptionally intelligent boy from her year at Durmstrang, built a bit like a boulder. Iliya nodded thoughtfully, shovelling apple and almond tart into his mouth at an alarming rate. Seraphine had to restrain herself from elbowing him yet again to remind him of his manners. 

“It must not be a person, for that is too subjective. A person vood be bribed or impersonated or biased.” Theo continued, gaining a bit more confidence with his suspicions as several Hogwarts student tuned in to what he was saying. 

“So you're saying its some sort of _object_ thats going to decide?” A boy down the table asked, his voice skeptical as he took in the sight of Theo. Seraphine had to smile at this. Theo wasn't the poster child for astute intellect with his overbearing size.  

“Who’re you?” Iliya asked rather rudely. 

“Eric Sutherland — but how would an object know who’s better?” He insisted. 

“Any object can be enchanted to choose a vorthy champion, yes?” 

“So, you’re saying this is like pulling names out of a hat?” Seraphine questioned, still a little lost in the debate. Theo nodded, his face splitting into a wide grin. 

“Except the only names presented in the end are those that vood be vorthy of a champion title.” 

Seraphine was a little surprised at his thought-process. She _had_ been beginning to wonder if Karkaroff was going to establish another series of tests within his hand-picked few to choose a champion of his own. Knowing Karkaroff, it would probably be Viktor. He had always had an affiliation for Iliya's friend. 

Seraphine’s ears flickered from one conversation to the other, the cacophony of students disorientating her. There had to be over a thousand students, all crammed into the one hall and she felt as though someone had stuffed cotton wool into her head. Her eyes strayed to the High Table where Karkaroff was making the stern looking witch seated to his left look rather uncomfortable and twitchy whenever he leant over to converse. There was a giant of a man at one end who wore a slightly smoking coat and a man whose chin barely passed the tabletop. She recognised Professor Sinistra, having read nearly every astronomy article she had published in the last thirteen years. A wild and weathered looking man loomed behind the High Table who had more craters than the moon decorating his face. With a large chunk missing from his nose and a false eye, he looked like a badly put-together jigsaw puzzle. Seraphine turned her attention back to her food, and tried to ignore the unnerving feeling that prickled across the back of her neck, making her feel like she was being watched. 

 

—

 

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, vanishing with a faint popping noise, Dumbledore stood to address the students. Tension hummed through the air and Seraphine smiled as the crowd leant forward in their seats in one collective movement. 

“Now that we have all been fed and acquainted, I would like to say a few words.” His glasses could not hide the twinkle in his eye as he cast his gaze across the sea of students, and Seraphine could have sworn his mouth twitched as his eyes reached Adrian Pucey’s empty seat.

“The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin, but first, let me introduce Mr. Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation —” 

“Vot a cheerful looking chap.” Theo said loudly. Seraphine let out a derisive laugh taking in Mr. Crouch’s severe parting and spotless robes. He would have looked more at home in a well-tailored tuxedo. 

“—and Mr. Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” Polite applause rang around the Great Hall, coupled with excited whispers. Viktor looked less than impressed and clapped twice before returning his gaze to Dumbledore, clearly remembering his last encounter with the overly-enthusiastic Mr. Bagman. Seraphine lost herself in the overly complex reminders that Mr. Crouch sprouted, the judging panel, the age restriction and several other formalities — she could feel her eyes drooping on their own accord. 

“The Triwizard Tournament is designed to test each champion in many different ways — magical prowess — daring — powers of deduction — and finally, their level-headedness in the face of extreme danger.” The Durmstrang students looked on, unperturbed, whilst the rest of the Hall exploded into shrieks of anticipation and anxiety. Dumbledore strode from behind his place at the lectern to rest his hand upon the large chalice. 

“The Goblet of Fire — anyone wishing to submit their name for contention for the position as their schools champion must simply write their name and school upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet. Tomorrow night, Hallowe'en, the Goblet will decide upon the three champions who it has judged to be the most worthy to represent their schools. This is not a decision to take lightly as the Goblet initiates a binding magical contract, that under no circumstances of further revaluation can be broken.” Dumbledore's eyes swept across the Hall, piercing and grave. Seraphine had the distinct impression that he was irrevocably against the whole idea of the Tournament. He paused for a moment longer, and then clapped his hands together. 

“Alas, many of you have come a long way and must be weary. It is time for bed. Goodnight to you all.” There was a great deal of rumbling as the sound of hundreds of students rising from the benches filled the hall. Seraphine rose with them, taking her abandoned furs with her. She managed to escape through the doors to the Entrance Hall without hassle, several metres in front of the main crush of students. She hovered by the oak front doors, still open, waiting for Theo or Iliya or even Karkaroff to make an appearance. 

“Out of my vay, meddling child.” Seraphine turned to see Poliakoff throw a well aimed elbow into the side of an extremely tall Hogwarts student — clearly his eye-sight needed checking. 

“Ouch! Watch it!” The Hogwarts student protested as Poliakoff, Ekern and Dokken pushed roughly past. His cry attracted the attention of his friends who hovered anxiously around him. Seraphine realised with a small shock that he was a twin, as an identical boy leered over his shoulder. Her fingers curled around the cool length of her wand reflexively. A girl was tugging on the Hogwarts boys' sleeve. 

“Come on, George. Just leave it.” The girl’s braids swung wildly as she tried to get her friend to drop his aggressive stance. 

Poliakoff had a nasty grin on his face. He was already seething with Karkaroff’s scathing comment about the state of his robes, where the remains of Mongolian beef stew had dribbled, and he was probably just itching for a good fight. Dokken and Ekern sneered at the small group. 

“Vot are you going to do?” Dokken said. Seraphine jolted when she caught sight of his wand pointed at the boy under the cover of his furs. Tension solidified the air, and yet hundreds of students still poured from the Hall, unconcernedly chatting about the Tournament, brushing past the fight with barely a glance. The girl tried again, this time with the help of her friend.

“Let’s go George.” The other boy with a head full of dreadlocks said, yet it was only with a whispered comment from his twin who had been shooting nasty glares at the Durmstrang lot that had him turning away with an ear-splitting smirk working its way across his face. 

“Vot did he say?” Poliakoff’s voice rose in his fury, but the Hogwarts students ignored him and began their way up a huge marble staircase. Poliakoff’s face went red. 

Seraphine acted on instinct. Dokken was only just raising his wand to the back of the Hogwarts boy when she sent a wordless tongue-tying curse flying towards his back with a twitch of her wand. Bedlam followed. Seraphine cowered in the corner of the Entrance Hall as Dokken bellowed, or tried to, with his tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth — and everyone turned to watch, bewildered as he clutched his mouth, going purple with rage. 

“Causing trouble alveady?” Theo’s loud voice in Seraphine’s ear caught her off-guard. She laughed, watching as Dokken flailed around with Poliakoff and Ekern dancing out of the way of his club-like arms. 

“He had it coming.” She insisted, slipping out from under Theo’s arm which he had slung about her shoulders. Just as several Professors ran to Dokken’s aid, Seraphine caught the eye of the Hogwarts boy, the twin, who was watching the scene Dokken was making with a bemused smile. She sent him a smug smile and hurriedly slipped her wand back up her sleeve, wincing as Karkaroff came tearing into the Entrance Hall shouting of double-crossing and false pretences and for his students to go back to the ship at once. With a noisy sigh, Seraphine followed Theo, and Iliya and Emil who had joined them at some point, out of the castle and into the moonlit night. 

 

—

 

 


	2. Night Premonitions

**Chapter two - Night Premonitions**

 

_Of all the things you choose_

_in life,_

_you don't get to choose_

_what your nightmares are._

_You don't pick them;_

_they pick you._

— John Irving 

 

—

The ship groaned in time with the rock of each ripple across the lake, and Seraphine watched the weak light from the grimy porthole near her bed puddle on the covers. She’d been awake for ages, but she wasn’t ready to face the day. Her boxy, uncomfortable cabin had done little to deter her awful dream from the night before and she felt tired to the bone despite being incredibly well-rested and a little stir-crazy from the length of the voyage. Above the slapping of the waves against the bulkhead of the ship she could hear the murmur of voices coming from down the passageway where the main council quarters were. Taking that as encouragement to escape the shrinking room, Seraphine stumbled around in half-light, dressing herself blindly in her uniform. She buttoned up her shirt and fastened her high necked Durmstrang coat with nimble fingers, ignoring her heavy fur shuba from where she had carelessly tossed it to the ground last night. It was far too warm outside for such a thing.   

 

Peering blearily at her dull reflection in the small bathroom that was connected to her cabin, she did her best to wrestle her hair into ponytail. She scrubbed at her face until the skin was a raw tingling red, trying to recall her dream which was quickly taking on the consistency of water the harder she tried to grasp it. It had been fraught with confusingly vivid colours, and a crumbling house, and a face inside a face, and the harder she tried to think about what it all meant, the less she could remember. Frustrated and lethargic, Seraphine pulled on her shoes and crept out of her cabin and up topside where she could finally breath in fresh air. The morning was frigid enough for her to feel the slight breeze through her thin layers, but it woke her up far better than a dull conversation with Dokken or Poliakoff would have. She raised her face skywards, and let the grey light soak into her skin. It had been so long since she had felt proper warmth. The North was not a forgiving place. A shrieking cry, far enough away not to immediately startle her, rang out around the bay where the Durmstrang ship docked and Seraphine’s eyes snapped open. 

 

A huge bat-like beast had risen into the air and fell back out of sight almost the moment she had located it. Her breath hung heavy in her chest and she scanned the treetops of the dark forest intently for several moments. Bemused and a little chilled from the distant encounter, Seraphine glanced towards the castle over her shoulder. Hogwarts looked imposing in the early morning light, it’s towers reaching towards a cloudless pink sky. She shivered in anticipation, her excitement for the half forgotten Tournament returning as she disembarked the Durmstrang ship from a gangway that stretched all the way to the dewy grass of the bank. The memory of the beast faded as she made her way up the sloping lawn quickly, enticed by the smell of baking pumpkins which seemed to float from the open doors to the castle. Dew wet the tops of her boots as she slogged through the ankle-deep grass, and a bellowing cry from one of Beauxbatons’s creatures reverberated from the fields behind her. 

 

Seraphine had never been one for early-morning exercise, and by the time she made it into the looming shadow of the grand castle, she was sweating under her coat. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she made her way up the front steps and across the empty entrance hall. At the other end of the room the Goblet still stood alight, it’s mesmerising blue flames crackling softly in the stillness. Seraphine gave the artefact a large berth, and made her way to the base of a grand marble staircase. She had given her name to the flames last night, and the memory of the Goblet flaring upwards with the submission of her name had burnt itself to the backs of her eyelids. She blinked rapidly and unwillingly tore her eyes from the roughly hewn cup. 

 

The doors to the Great Hall to her left were firmly closed, and a silent _tempus_ spell told her it was well before breakfast. Groaning under her breath, Seraphine turned to face the stairs that seem to extend far beyond her sight, up and up, into the hazy distance. Her quelled excitement rekindled at the thought of exploring her Father’s old school. Her feet had taken several steps forward before she realised she was moving, and she steadily made her way up the rest of the first flight, wet boots squeaking on the marble, a smile forming on her face. 

The banisters on either side of the sprawling staircase were wound with enormous garlands of gently stirring autumn leaves from a deciduous tree, and there was a distinct smell of baking pastries. The general abundance of festive spirit for Hallowe’en only shed further light between the stark difference between Hogwarts and Durmstrang. Back at her school there had been no time for such frivolities. Hallowe’en in the dank castle was commonly spent studying for mid-term exams  in the extensive libraries and fending off surprise attacks in the corridors from some of the more nasty seventh years. 

 

Durmstrang was much smaller than this place, Seraphine determined, her feet aching as she mounted yet another flight of stairs. But there was plenty to keep herself distracted with from the slowly stiffening muscles of her calfs. Every square inch of space along the endless corridors and towering walls were covered with thousands and thousands of paintings. Seraphine watched curiously as different painted figures bustled between the frames, simply stepping out of their own and reappearing in another. She wonders, briefly, if her mouth is still hanging loose twenty minutes later, when she is brusquely scolded by a mirror for the untidiness of her hair. To her utter delight, the staircases in the great castle do in fact move, as her Father had promised, and so it is to no surprise that she finds herself hopelessly lost in no time. 

 

Everything looks unfamiliar by the time she has drawn herself out of her haze of fascination for the astonishing quirks of Hogwarts. She peers around one corner and then the next, unsure of which way she had passed through before. _Well done Sera_ , she thinks to herself angrily as she jogs down another identical looking corridor. Through the towering windows to her left she can see the Black Lake and the Durmstrang ship bobbing around like a spinning-top in the gusty wind of the morning, and she wonders briefly if Iliya and Theo are looking for her yet. She’s certainly been gone long enough. _Where are all of the students of this bloody school?_ She’s frustrated by the complete lack of people as she manages to get herself stuck on a staircase moving to the floor above instead of down like she had wanted. 

 

Seraphine thinks she is on the sixth floor or maybe the seventh wandering around aimlessly when she’s rescued by a very abnormal looking girl with more hair than actual body. 

“Excuse me, would you be able to point me in the direction of the Great Hall?” She all but shouts at the whisp of the student who looks like a strong breeze could knock her over. The girl’s eyes bug out of her attenuated face as she turns to see Seraphine jogging to catch up with her before she disappears around the corner. 

“What are you doing all the way up here?” The girl asks breathily, her thin brows disappearing into her hairline. 

“I’m guessing this isn’t the way to the Great Hall…” She trailed off as the girl gave her an alarming smile. 

“No. But I can take you if you’d like. We’ll be late for breakfast though…” The Hogwarts student looks slightly upset before cheering up almost immediately, “But no-one ever eats the kippers!” And with barely a preamble she takes off up the corridor at a pace that has Seraphine struggling to keep up with. 

“I’m Seraphine, by the way. But all my friends call me Sera.” She offered after a brief moment of silence between the two of them, save for the sound of their feet slapping against the stone floor. 

“That’s nice.” The girl replied dreamily, her orb-like eyes focusing somewhere on Seraphine’s chin. “You don't sound like you’re from Durmstrang. I thought all of you had Eastern-European accents.” 

A little bemused, Seraphine tried to explain how lots of nationalities all came to together at Durmstrang, either by convenience or parental preference, like her own. She could remember the argument her parents had had in finding a place where Seraphine’s oldest sibling, Emilie, and the rest of their family should be taught. 

 

— 

 

_She hadn’t meant to be out of bed. She had been waiting for her governess, Miss. Gowan to fetch a pitcher of water from down in the kitchens and the ageing witch hadn’t quite shut the door on her way out. She had only meant to close the door and hop back into her bed before Miss. Gowan saw her in her nightie out of her bed past her bedtime, but the muffled sounds of her Father yelling drew her further from her room._

_“—send her there, Doska!”_

_“Yet it is tradition! Ve haff attended since my grandfather’s grandfather!”_

_“What about my family’s traditions? The Molloy Family has a legacy to attend Hogwarts!”_

_Seraphine couldn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about, but she had never heard her Daddy yell quite so loudly before. Her Mother let out a derisive laugh._

_“Ve cannot let Emilie be taught by a senile vizard who cannot prevent a var from brewing under his beaky nose! No! It is safest at Durmstrang vhere she must go, I am right in thinking, Atticus. This you cannot argue.”_

_There was silence on the other side of the large oak doors, and Seraphine found herself creeping just a bit closer to press her ear to the keyhole, still not sure what they were arguing about. The next time her Father spoke, his voice was considerably lower._

_“_ He _will return. We’ve known for years, Doska. But the Dark Lord will be angry, and he means to seek out those who stood up to him last time. That includes Igor.”_

_“Durmstrang vill at least not hold back in teaching her everything she needs to know. Emilie deserves to know that magic is not all dark and light, but much of the two.”_

_“But what of the rumours? Some say Headmaster Haugen is retiring and that Professor Karkaroff means to take his place. We cannot possible send our children to be taught by such a man.”_

_Seraphine stood shivering in the hallway for quite some time before her Mother replied._

_“His allegiance vos never questioned after his trial Atticus. He knows that his life is owing to the Ministry. He is a hated man in Azkaban, for he haff put many of the Dark Lord’s follovers there for life. Karkaroff vood never return to His side, even when He does return.”_

_“I do not doubt you, Doska. But I worry for Emilie. Hogwarts is an enchanting place to learn, and I treasured my time there. But you are right in thinking I will not stand against your wishes. Only know I will never fully agree with them.”_

 

_—_

 

It had been the first time Seraphine had ever heard her parents fighting. Even the memory made her uncomfortable. 

“You’re a very quiet sort of person, you know. Much on your mind?” The girl beside her commented, leading her down a sprawling staircase that had almost materialised before them. It was with a sneaking suspicion that Seraphine thought that it had not been there a few minutes before.

“Oh, I’m sorry—”  She trailed off as the girl waved away her apology with a delicate hand. 

“Wackspurts tend to do that to you, and your head’s full of them!” Seraphine ducked immediately and waved her hands about for a minute before she realised that nothing was there. 

“Er…are they gone?” She asked cautiously. The girl next to her nodded, looking serious. 

“That’s lucky. Usually they’re not so easily gotten rid of.” With that ominous comment, they spent the remainder of their trip down the next two floor in complete silence. Seraphine was absolutely befuddled by the girl, with her fairy-floss hair and too-big eyes. She looked as though she was permanently being hit by a Static Hex.

 

“How do you like the castle so far? Is it much different to Durmstrang?” The girl asked eventually, leading them around yet another corridor, this one made up of mostly paintings in the style of Magenta Comstock. Seraphine tried not to shiver as the eyes of each painting followed the girl and herself as they made their way down the hallway at a brisk walk. 

“There’s nothing in Durmstrang to compare this place to. It’s very nice here.” Seraphine replied cordially, following after the girl who walked with a slight skip in her step. She tried not to stare as she realised her earrings where made of radishes. 

“What’s it like?” 

“Cold.” Seraphine said thinking she was hilariously witty, earning a lofty giggle in reply. 

“I like the cold. Daddy and I go hiking in the Northern countries looking for Sylph’s in the Summer months.” Seraphine tried not to look completely dumb at not knowing what Sylph’s were, and simply nodded as the child gabbled on about the fantastical beasts her father would take her to see. 

“It’s Luna, by the way.” She announced, bringing them to a stop at the top of yet another staircase that looked familiar. It was with an odd sense relief that Seraphine could see the Goblet of Fire crackling merrily in the Entrance Hall at the foot of the stairs. 

“What is?” She queried, descending the stairs with more grace than her still damp shoes would usually allow. 

“My name. Luna Lovegood. You never asked.” 

Seraphine opened her mouth to protest when she realised, with a jolt of shame, that she never had. “I suppose I did’t. Sorry, Luna.” The girl looked at her with a slightly critical frown, her expression considerably less dreamy. “Your father runs the Quibbler, doesn’t he. I swear I’ve seen the name Lovegood printed on the cover before.” Luna’s face brightened considerably as they slowly crossed the Entrance Hall together. 

“He’s the editor. Daddy’s very proud of it. He promised we can go watch the salamander migration in Scotland  at Christmas this year.” She seemed very excited by the very fact. Seraphine smiled despite her embarrassment. Despite being possibly the strangest person she had met, Luna had a light way about her that was infectious. 

“Thanks for your help, Luna.” She said sincerely. She very much doubted that she would have ever found her way down to the Great Hall by herself. Luna gave her a wave before floating away to her own house table of students dressed similarly with a blue crest on their robes. 

 

The Great Hall had barely changed from the night before, although the thousands of candle’s hovering some ten feet above her head were extinguished, letting the enchanted ceiling bring the light of the morning into the cavernous space. The four tables were bustling with the movement of hundreds of students, all dressed in the colours of their house. The delegations of Beauxbatons had settled themselves at the same table which Luna had disappeared to, and it was with a great surge of pleasure that Seraphine spotted Iliya sitting at the table of the yellow house, as far away as possible from the group of Slytherin’s they’d had to endure the night before. 

 

She made her way quickly through the throng of students, trying to ignore the obvious stares of curiosity that were being thrown her way. A Durmstrang student was evidently some sort of unheard of creature to the Hogwarts population, and she all but fell into the seat opposite Iliya, grabbing the jug of water to hide her face behind. She slopped some into her goblet and took a deep gulp, avoiding Iliya’s glare as she managed to scare off the girl with a honey-yellow ribbon in her hair that he had been chatting to. 

“You look bloody awful.” Iliya said in bad grace, swinging his leg that had been straddling the bench back under the table. Seraphine reached for the rack of buttered toast triangles, pulling it towards herself ravenously. She scowled at his comment and dumped two slices unceremoniously to her plate.

“Where’s Theo? You know, my really _really_ good friend Theo, who has never once commented on my appearance?” 

“Ha ha, Molloy. You’re hysterical in the mornings. You only properly met him last week.” 

“And you have no idea how to talk to women.” She said accusingly.  

“Point taken. But seriously, Sera. Did you sleep at _all_ last night?” Iliya would have sounded genuinely concerned if not for the spray of chewed up cornflakes coming from his mouth as he spoke in his eagerness. 

“That is disgusting.” She commented, delicately flicking a soggy piece of cereal from her plate. Iliya’s eyes wandered to the bruise-like shadows underneath her own, but thankfully refrained from saying any more on the subject. 

 

He wasn’t wrong however, for Seraphine had barely slept the night before. She tried desperately to remember what it had all been about, but was just left feeling nauseous. Iliya, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking about leant forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Was it another vision?” 

“ _Not here_ , Iliya!” Seraphine hissed, her eyes darting around frantically to see if he had been overheard. The Great Hall was filling up rapidly, and most of them seemed to think that Seraphine and Iliya were completely different species. They sat in large groups across the four long tables, constantly whispering and giggling and catching Iliya’s wandering eye before fresh laughter broke out. But despite the apparent interest from the majority of the Hogwarts female population, they were left blessedly by themselves. Seraphine didn’t think she could stomach meeting anymore Hogwarts students just yet. They all seemed prejudiced towards anyone less than pureblood or half-crazy. 

“And they are _premonitions_ , not _visions_.” Seraphine corrected in an undertone, the tension of being overheard seeping from her locked limbs. 

 

Seer’s weren’t prosecuted in the modern magical community, not like they had been in the past, but her Aunt Ida had always been sought out for her coveted ability to predict the future. As much as Iliya pushed the idea, Seraphine knew she was not Seer like her Aunt. She had never been able to see what was to come. She doubted she would even be able to predict a turn in the weather, and even the muggles could do that. However, she had always had an uncommonly sharp sense of the balance of the magical world. Iliya had come to trust her instinctual reactions to her surroundings, and so when she began loosing sleep over a bad feeling, he couldn’t help but be on edge as well. 

“It’s nothing, Iliya. I promise.” She waved off his doubtful look and continued with her breakfast. 

“Are you worried about the Tournament?” He asked, picking back up his spoon which he had abandoned in his distraction. 

“Yes? But Karkaroff said we were more than ready. Apparent _this lot_ don’t even learn basic defensive spells until their seventh year.” She said distastefully, glancing around at the hall of strangers. It was after a few moments of silence that Seraphine realised Iliya hadn’t heard a word of her reply. 

“Iliya!” Seraphine whispered exasperatedly, trying to regain his attention from the girls that had settled nearby to whom he was flashing his most charming smile. 

“Yes, dear?” Iliya asked distractedly as the group of girls burst into excited giggles once he had turned back to his breakfast. Seraphine summoned his bowl of cereal with a nonverbal twitch of her hand and Iliya stabbed at the air fruitlessly before he grudgingly turned his attention to her livid expression. 

“That’s not very polite.” He commented casually. 

“Did you hear _anything_ that I just said?” She interrupted, keeping his breakfast firmly out of his reach. 

“If I say yes will it make you feel any better?” He inquired wryly, his eyes trained on where Seraphine was guarding his breakfast with her arm. Seraphine kicked him sharply beneath the table, and with his eyes watering, she shoved his food back at him.

“You can be such a pig sometimes Iliya.” She muttered. 

 

“Well do you want to hear my bit of interesting news?” He offered sulkily. Seraphine conceded finally and nodded her head once. 

“Karkaroff came looking for my bit of parchment last night, for the Goblet, you know.” He took a large gulp of his pumpkin juice to help clear his throat. Seraphine ate the remains of her toast while she waited for him to continue. 

“It was about ten minutes after you went to bed. Theo and I were already back in our cabin when he burst in. We were getting dressed for bed, already completely starkers, I’ve never seen Theo’s face that shade of red before — and he was just standing in the doorway demanding for us to hand over our Goblet entries. So of course we take our time, because there’s not a lot of gymnastics you are willing to do when you’re trying to hold your robes in place for some decency — oh shut up — but Karkaroff was getting pretty impatient, so Theo started asking him a whole bunch of questions just to give us some time to pull some pants on and get our names on some parchment.” Iliya didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by Seraphine’s uncontrollable sniggers. 

“He didn’t trust you both to put them in yourselves?” She laughed. 

“He’s just a prejudiced old wart who’s so paranoid he probably sleeps with a rowen branch shoved up his —“ Seraphine roared with laughter. 

 

“Lovely morning conversation you two are having, mind if we join?” Theo and Emil, both sporting large grins, had just made their way into the Great Hall whilst Seraphine had been caught up in Iliya’s story. The stood shoulder to shoulder behind Iliya, looking appreciatively at the sprawl the Hogwarts house-elfs had provided for breakfast. 

“Please.” Seraphine snorted, waving her hand at the two boys to take their seats, taking a roll and a fried egg from the platter in front of them all before it was all devoured. 

“I was just telling Sera about Karkaroff being a raving lunatic.” Iliya filled in the two boys promptly, snatching his goblet of juice back from Emil who had been peering curiously at the bright orange contents. Theo’s face immediately flushed and Seraphine grinned widely, knowing he was thinking of their uncomfortable meeting last night. Emil nodded in agreement with Iliya. 

“Everyone knows he’s mad. I had to listen to Johan all night after Karkaroff asked for our parchment. Johan’s convinced he’s only going to enter Krum and not the rest of us to give him a better chance.” 

While Theo snorted at the idea and Seraphine rolled her eyes, Iliya shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his friend being favoured, yet again, by the possessive headmaster. 

“Come on Iliya. We all know Viktor hates it. And it’s just Evenstad coming up with a bunch of theories.” Seraphine chided, trying to get the frown that creased his forehead to leave. She wondered why Karkaroff had let her enter her own name into the Goblet instead of taking her name down like everyone else. Maybe he hadn’t been able to find her last night. 

 

“They’re not just _theories_. He has always liked Viktor better than the rest of us — he’d do anything for him to be champion.” Iliya whined, looking like Seraphine with a pained expression. 

“What? Rig the Goblet? Come on Iliya. Even Karkaroff wouldn’t go that far—” Emil asked sounding skeptical. Something in Emil’s words made Seraphine’s thoughts fly back to her parent’s argument about Karkaroff’s imprisonment in Azkaban, and all of a sudden, she wasn’t too sure. 

 

—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all for the positive comments about this story so far. It's been so encouraging to read your reactions!  
> Unfortunately this chapter has been a lot longer in the works than I would have liked, and now that I'm slowly working past the writer's block I've been sitting in, hopefully I'll have some more chapters up sooner. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been so positive and thoughtful xx kudos to you all.


	3. Where Everything Looks Like It's Going to be Alright for Five Minutes. Part I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my awful attempt at a Bulgarian accent. You have been warned...

** Chapter Three - The chapter where everything looks like it is going to be alright for five minutes. **

 

_This_

_above all;_

_to thine own self_

_be true._

 

— William Shakespeare 

 

The day passed too quickly for Seraphine, and it is with great displeasure that she found herself seated once again at the Slytherin table, awaiting Dumbledore’s commencement of the Triwizard Choosing Ceremony. There was a thrum of general fidgeting that had nearly a thousand students up and out of their assigned seats in the Great Hall in their eagerness to talk to their neighbouring house tables. Seraphine’s head almost ached with a sick sense of excitement with what was about to come, and she’d had been on edge nearly all day. Iliya, next to her, was doing his best to look supremely unconcerned with the shrieks of noise about them. He sent her a languid smile and waved his hand at the din around them. 

“Ridiculous, all this. You’d think they’ve all entered.” Seraphine managed to smile, thinking that the day had been a whirlwind of confusing colour, up until she filed into the Hall behind a cross-looking Karkaroff and a red-nosed Viktor Krum. 

 

Iliya, Theo, Emil and Seraphine had spent breakfast together, almost completely undisturbed by the gawking Hogwarts students, before being whisked into a small chamber off the main Entrance Hall along with the rest of the delegations by a severe looking witch who was doing her best to smile. _It does not suit her_ , Seraphine had mused as the witch, a Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration, tartly went through their supposed schedule for their time at Hogwarts. The Beauxbatons students did their best not to sniff in disapproval as they were curiously reminded their attendance to a range of classes throughout the weeks was to be encouraged. A typical “under no circumstances will there be any breaking of school rules by visiting delegates” briefing followed, under which Seraphine found herself being eyed scrupulously as Iliya had made her laugh. In hindsight, his joke about Karkaroff being trampled by the Beauxbatons horses had not been that funny. Whilst in the company of his students, their High Master had been scowling ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts, and it was to no-ones surprise that Seraphine received a verbal lashing from him as soon as they left the chamber. Chastened, she spent the tour of the Hogwarts castle and spacious grounds suspiciously quiet. 

 

A troop of prefects, several from each Hogwarts House, were their guides around the school for the day. Seraphine, along with her usual group, found themselves paired off with a rather enthusiastic Head Boy who prattled on about the four founders of the school and the unique abilities of each. While Theo paid close attention and Emil did his best to look attentive, Iliya spent his time ignoring the litany of facts, peering closely at the artworks and suits of armour that they passed on their way through all seven floors of the castle. 

 

Seraphine’s head and feet ached enormously by the time they paused for lunch in the Great Hall, and then they were finally permitted to roam outside of the castle and in the sunshine of the brisk October afternoon. That was where they had wasted away their final afternoon before being burdened with the Goblet’s champions selections later that night. They meandered down to the edge of the Black Lake, where the Durmstrang ship bobbed, tethered by a long green rope to the small docks on the opposite bank. It was much more impressive in the moonlight, and in the sharp relief of the afternoon sunshine, the skeletal ship looked shrunken and gloomy. 

 

In the small patch of golden, buttery sunshine that Seraphine managed to lounge in gave her a spectacular view of the Black Lake, only to be spoiled by Iliya and Theo who had stripped off their school boots the moment they had reached the lake, and were splashing around in the shallows. A cool breeze from the surrounding mountains sent her hair spiralling around her cheeks, and she lent back on her elbows to watch a large murmuration dance across the cloudless sky. Seraphine found herself caught up in a conversation with Emil and his friend Johan Evenstad, who she had never quite got around to talking to at Durmstrang. Johan had floppy blonde hair and a thin nose but a dry sense of humour and an appreciated quick wit that had Seraphine fanning her pink cheeks from laughter. 

 

They ignored the glaring obviousness of the looming announcement of the champions and chatted unconcernedly about their families, and, in Emil’s case, the abysmal performance of their quidditch teams. The Kenmare Kestrels were doing fantastically this season, and Seraphine struck up a quick bet with the two boys with little preamble (…honestly, who supported the Crudely Cannons anymore?). There were exclamations of joy about missing the overwhelming workload that sixth year came with at Durmstrang, and guilty admissions about the friends they had left behind for the year. It was at this point Seraphine just about kicked herself to remember to write to her other close friend, Tereza Dessislava, before the week was out. 

 

She shuddered despite the warmth of the afternoon, imagining Tereza’s acute indignation at being forgotten. Her closest girl friend was spontaneous at best and uncommonly talented at charms, and she doubted that a Howler would be the worst of her problems should she neglect to owl her. They had been friends for an almost indeterminable amount of time. Emilie and Tereza’s eldest sister, Zosia, had been friends ever since attending Durmstrang together, and at some point Tereza and her had come together in the long haze of summer breaks when Seraphine’s entire family seemed to congregate upon the family estate in Kenmare. If anything was more telling of Tereza Dessislava’s character, it was the day she had convinced Seraphine to sneak out on her cousin Daniel’s broom when they were supposed to be having high tea in the garden’s. They would have only been six or seven, but the whole incident had ended (after they had both discovered that they quite liked flying) in Seraphine crashing into the greenhouse on the south side of the estate. Tereza had waited patiently as her jagged gash along her forehead was magically knitted back together, and afterwards, they parted as best friends. 

 

Seraphine’s hand came up to touch the thin white scar that marred her forehead, but paused when she saw an extremely put-off looking Viktor Krum stalking towards their lazy group on the grass. She’d never seen the Bulgarian seeker filled with so much purpose off the quidditch pitch, and it took her longer than she’d admit to recognise the desperate need to escape a crowd from a distance. As Seraphine’s Aunt Ida had become steadily known as one of the most prominent modern Seers in all of Europe, she had been run down by all sorts of students at Durmstrang, wanting to know the most tedious of things about their exams or long standing crushes, and all about the good fortune they hoped was waiting on the horizon. She winced as Viktor threw himself gracelessly beside her and began ripping up the grass around him with a scowl on his heavy-set features. She rolled her head around to survey the growing crowd of students that had taken up following him around, who had materialised on the sloping hill behind them. 

 

“Afternoon sunshine.” She said airily towards Iliya’s grumpy best friend, rolling onto her side to give him a broad smile. “Enjoying your day?” 

Viktor gave an almighty sniff in reply, one that had her struggling to keep a straight face, and he flops backwards, using his elbows to prop himself up. 

“I veel like a muggle attraction.” He said stiffly, catching Emil’s raised eyebrow. “They haff not let me out ovf their sight since bekvast.” 

Johan covered up his laugh with a poorly timed sneeze, Viktor just narrowed his eyes at the blonde boy and looked torn between watching Iliya and Theo skimming stones in the lake with amusement or disinterest. They sat quietly for a while, listening to the sound of chatting students as they moved between their classes, a small buzz from their distance from the castle. 

“How’s Libby, Viktor?” Seraphine finally broke the comfortable stillness between them. “Did she ever go down to Carkitt Market like I said?” 

 

Elizabeth was Viktor’s younger sister, and had always had a unique proficiency for musical instruments. Seraphine only knew of the small magical music shop in Carkitt by circumstance, her Aunt Asteria had always loved the grand piano that stood in the drawing room at home, and she have raved about the place it had come from, in London. Viktor gave a rare smile and nodded his shaved head. 

“She said is vos vonderful. So many places she vished to see, but had not much time for, I am thinking. Our bashta almost had to force her home, she like it that much.” He had a fond expression, and Seraphine smiled brightly at his praise. 

“Oh Viktor, I’m so happy. I knew she would love it down there! Has she said anything about where she wants to apply yet, for next year?” 

“No, not yet. She is still in a vorld of her own.” He said a bit ruefully, scratching at a stubborn itch on his earlobe. 

“I thought your mother wanted her to get into the Bulgarian Ministry, like your dad?” 

“The Ministry haff not been doing a good job veecently. After the mess at the Vorld Cop. They are in disgrace.” 

At this Emil piped up. “Surely your father wasn’t blamed for the incident! They’re fanatics…crazy…half of them are probably insane, knowing who they used to follow…” 

Krum just shrugged and looked exasperated again. Seraphine twisted her hands in her lap, rough fingers trying to rub a hole into the back of her palm. Johan rolled onto his stomach, his hair flopping over his eyes. He flicked it back impatiently and added his two cents to their conversation. 

 

“I never thought I’d have to see the word ‘Death Eater’ as the front page news again, thats for sure. The last scare was…what…almost twelve years ago? Thirteen? And then all that hysteria about Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban. What a load of rot. The British Ministry really fumbled over that one.” He said with a snort. 

“The Death Eaters are getting bolder. They’re more foolish than I thought for careening about, waving their wands about like lunatics. _And the muggles they hexed_ …what a bloody mess. And at the highest security event in years? What were they thinking?” Emil said. 

“They’re almost begging to get arrested.” Seraphine sighed, letting herself fall back into the soft grass, the shrieks of a highly entertained Iliya and Theo in the water echoing around the bank of the lake. 

“That’s the point, I think. None of them were ever caught…were they? All managed to get off scott free! The Ministries taking heavy fire for this one, I tell you.” Emil scowled. 

 

“They are covards. They haff no vight in the vizard vorld any longer. Bashta has been at the office since last veek. I haff not seen him in much time, not since before the match…” Viktor said to Seraphine, ignoring the excited whispers of the Hogwarts students as he stretched out his stiff muscles. 

“What’s he do again?” She asked, eyes tracking the single wispy cloud in the changing sky. It would be dark soon and Seraphine’s stomach rolled at the thought of the Tournament Choosing Ceremony drawing closer and closer. 

“Some papermover, I am thinking…yes. He make the Ministry’s actions look legal on paper.” 

“The Department of Defence?” 

“Yes. My maĭka hates it though, he is always bringing his verk home vith himself.” 

“How was your Mother after it all? Mine just about had a conniption before Iliya and I got the soonest portkey home. She chewed my ear off about it for weeks!” At this admission, Seraphine pushed herself up into a sitting position, wrapping her long arms around her bent knees. Viktor was laughing beside her. 

“You joke. Your mother is kindest vooman I know.” She just rolled her eyes at his flattery. 

 

“Make sure you mention that to her next time you're over, yeah? And while you’re at it, make sure you mention how well I’m doing at school or some other rot on the same tangent. I thought she was being possessed by my Grandmother, the way she was carrying on. Copped about half and hour of her yelling at the pair of us for being so lazy with getting news to her that we were absolutely fine. She barely let me come to Hogwarts this year for the tournament as it was before the World Cup happened.” 

“My maĭka vos quite fine. Both vorld cop and tournament. She vished for me to haff time avay from the press. She says it goes to my head.” 

“She’d be right.” Seraphine said, a bit nastily, annoyed that Viktor had gotten off so lightly. Seraphine’s mother, Doska, put a lot of faith into Viktor’s maĭka’s treatment of her children, and mimicked it at the worst of times. 

“Votch yourself, Molloy. You're treading in shallow waters.” 

“Gotcha.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for being so patient for this new chapter. I'm still writing it and felt so bad for not updating like I meant to last Thursday. Instead, this chapter will come in two parts, the next to be posted ASAP. Also, after these parts, I will be on a week trip and unfortunately have no access to internet. 
> 
> Make sure to check back in two weeks for new chapters! xxx
> 
> (Translations; Bashta = Father. Maĭka = Mother).


	4. Where Everything Looks Like It's Going to be Alright for Five Minutes. Part II.

 

** Part II **

—

It was with a ear-splitting shriek, some half an hour later, that Seraphine discovered that all of her Father’s stories about a Giant Squid inhabiting the depths of the Lake had been true. She had been in the middle of yapping Johan’s ear off about divulging a disgusting bit of news about walking in on his parents, in the days before he left at the end of the Summer holidays, just for him to get the surly Emil to crack a smile, when Theo and Iliya started making enough of a racket to rouse the entire castle off its ancient foundations. Theo had been the one to squeal like a frightened, little first year, and with uproarious laughter from those watching them on the bank, that the two boys hastily waded out the water where the Squid was lazilywaving its tentacles. 

“Think you’ve found yourself another admirer, Vanko!” Seraphine crowed at Iliya who was a brilliant shade of red, and rubbing at the arm that the Squid had touched ruefully. 

“I wish we were still in Durmstrang so I could make your unfortunate death look like an accident, Molloy.” Iliya said bitterly, looking mightily exasperated. Seraphine just snorted at his defensive manner. 

“Poor baby.” She cooed at her best friend, tripping him up as he tried to pull his socks back on. Sprawled on the grass Iliya just gave her a rude hand gesture and collected himself with more grace than Seraphine thought he possessed. 

 

“Let’s head back to the ship. It must be nearly time for the feast.” Johan offered as passively as he could, with a towering Theo shaking out his long hair above him. His elegant nose wrinkled up impressively, before he hoisted Emil off the ground and gave Theo a large shove that the huge boy barley noticed. 

“What a strange breeze they have here in Scotland.” Theo teased, to which Johan ignored. The small group of blood-red uniforms set off for the skeletal boat, which Seraphine had fondly dubbed, the Durmstrang hellhole. They managed to skirt Viktor’s admirers, and strolled towards the magically extended gangway, some half-way around the lake from the main castle grounds. 

“Anyone else shitting themselves for tonight?” Seraphine said conversationally, falling into step behind Iliya and Viktor. 

“You’re disgusting, Molloy…I love it.” Johan said with a playful smirk. “But if we’re being serious, I hope I get it. My parents have been going on for years about how I’m such a freeloader. Having eternal glory might get them to shut up for a while.” Seraphine laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. Johan looked a little humbled, rubbing the back of his neck with a fidgety hand. 

“So you’ve entered out a spite.” She said incredulously, whilst Iliya let out a bark of laughter.

“Pure spite.” He flashed her a wicked grin. 

“Anyone else got a ridiculous reason?” She asked, peering closely at each of the boys around her. Viktor shifted uncomfortably and then all but blurted,” I do not vant it to be me.” He looked a little stunned that he had admitted what had obviously bee causing him a lot of discomfort, but quickly recovered only to glare at Iliya before the boy could make a joke at the Bulgarian quidditch player’s expense. 

“Just as long as it’s not Poliakoff, then I can be happy that everything is right with the world.” Emil said with a feral grin.

 

—

 

 

The scant few hours between the golden afternoon and their seating at the Slytherin table passedwith the blink of an eye. One moment Seraphine was being herded back on to the Durmstrang boat, then she was back in her boxy cabin of moulding old world luxury straightening her uniform and fastening her fur coat under her chin. Wrestling her hair into a presentable ponytail took her long than she would have thought, but the evening seemed to melt away like a wax candle, and time seemed to fast forward until she was walking along with the rest of the Durmstrang representatives up to the castle, their cloaks rustling gently in the undisturbed peace of the night.

 

And so, after a day of what had seemed to be mostly a blur, Seraphine found herself somewhat overwhelmed by the entire situation. It wasn’t likely, not with her meagre talents in comparison to the rest of the ridiculously skilled representatives of Durmstrang, that she would be even considered as a possible champion of the Tournament by the captivating Goblet of Fire. However, the nagging voice that every so often camped out in the back of her mind, had started up a chant of _what if it’s you_ , and she couldn’t seem to dispel it. Her hands began to sweat, a revolting reaction to nerves that she had come to abhor, and she tried to distract herself by taking a large gulp of the goblet sitting in front of her, only to almost spit it out as she tasted the vile pumpkin flavoured juice. She slammed down her offending golden cup, getting a few odd looks from down the table of primly elegant Slytherins, but she ignored them all, choosing to frown, wedged in between Viktor and Iliya yet again, her thoughts deeply immersed in the sound of that little voice. 

 

The very object of her distress stood in the Great Hall once again, having moved from the Entrance Hall some time between the crush of students struggling to find a seat in the hall, and the nervous waiting for Dumbledore to make an appearance. 

 

The Hall itself had been entirely bedecked for Hallowe’en. Great wreaths of turning autumn leaves, in kaleidoscopes of red, yellow and orange decorated the long tables, whilst long banners of each Hogwarts house; Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, hung above each respective table. Seraphine took a customary glance towards the heads table, and with a start of what shouldn’t have been surprise, saw that two elaborate crests of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had joined the enormous Hogwarts crest on the great expanse of empty wall. The scent of baking was nearly overwhelming, and it was with a rueful grumble of her stomach, that Seraphine realised she had not eaten nearly enough food for lunch. The absence of steamed salted fish and boiled rice, so common at Durmstrang meal times, had thrown her in a loop, and she had merely picked at her food when they had finally escaped from the Head Boy and his very quiet Gryffindor girl prefect. 

 

A sudden hush and great deal of fussing of students, all struggling to find their abandoned seats was the first sign that Dumbledore had reentered the Great Hall. In the far distance, a bell was reverberating in the night, it’s dull ring still noticeable over the restless crowd.

“About time.” She grumbled, receiving a well deserved elbow from Iliya for her rudeness, although it doesn’t stop her from scowling unattractively at him. Dumbledore stood up in a flurry of star-spangled robes of a deep plum colour that made his hair seem even whiter in the candlelight. 

“Welcome.” Dumbledore’s surprisingly booming voice cut through the silence and seemed to echo across the quiet hall. She looked across the hall to see every student in rapt attention, their pale faces thrown into stark relief with the thousands of candles floating overhead. Dumbledore’s glasses seemed to catch the light once more and he gave a benign smile. “The champion selection is about to begin, but first, the Hallowe’en feast!” 

 

At his words, food of all sorts appeared on the long tables, and immediately, Seraphine was assaulted by the smell of roast lamb. All around her, the prim and proper Slytherins were diving into the dishes with more enthusiasm than she had seen any of them display in their dull conversations the previous night. Despite the anticipation which had gnawed a deep pit in her stomach, Seraphine found that she was not as hungry as she had first thought. The feast seemed to last an age, and wedged as she was between two brawny boys made it drag on. She checked Iliya’s wristwatch, a gift for his seventeenth birthday by Viktor’s father, several times, until he would impatiently flick her searching arm away, eyebrow quirked at her unusual behaviour. 

“Ants in your pants, Molloy?” Iliya said haughtily, after he snatched his abused arm out of her grasp for the third time in the past ten minutes. 

“Just want it to be over.” She moaned, poking moodily at her mashed potatoes. She was not alone in her impatience. All around the hall students were standing up on benches to see if the Staff table had yet to finish their own meals. Karkaroff looked impassive and surly despite the festive atmosphere, and he sat in deep conversation with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons headmistress. Seraphine lost herself in staring and fidgeting as Dumbledore chatted away with the stern witch from that morning, a Professor McGowan or something of the sort. 

 

At long last, the last remaining crumbs of the feast disappeared from the golden plates, and the students around her broke out into excited gossiping. Theo, from a bit further down the Slytherin table, gave her an uncharacteristic thumbs up when she caught his eye, to which she sarcastically returned. The sharp upswing in noise dimmed dramatically as Dumbledore finally rose from his decorated throne. Behind him, the teachers of Hogwarts, representatives of the British Ministry, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff watched on in determined silence. 

“Good evening. I expect many of you are waiting patiently for the Goblet of Fire to deliver its judgement, but I approximate it will require a few more seconds before it is ready.” He smiled warmly, the corners of his great beard twitching as he paused to allow the fidgeting of the crowd settle once more.

“I have a few things to say, however. For those who are chosen, your names will be called, and you will proceed to the next chamber for further instructions.” At this, he waved a weathered hand at a small door to the left of the raised staff table. Seraphine’s eyes seemed to zero in on it, until she was almost convinced it was the size of the doors that led into the entrance hall. It was all she could see. 

 

Iliya beside her was bouncing his leg up and down in an irritatingly unconscious manner, and she could see Viktor hunching in on himself, as he often did before a quidditch game. She placed a calming hand on Viktor’s shoulder and his dark eyes turned to meet her own. 

“You must act as though it is what you wanted, if you are chosen, Viktor. You cannot seem weak amongst the rest of the champions.” She whispered, knowing what was weighing on his mind. He gave her a jerky nod, before the room was plunged into darkness with the wave of Dumbledore’s hand. The once friendly looking carved pumpkins, large enough for a small party of four to crouch in, turned sinister in the dim light, their faces leering out from the four corners of the hall. The Goblet shone brighter, its mesmerising blue flames crackling with intensity. Dumbledore had appeared to have said all he needed to, and he, along with everyone else in the hall, waited expectantly for something to happen. 

 

Whispers scattered across the hall as the minute dragged on, and Seraphine found her chilled fingers entwined with Iliya’s own, her nails biting into his palm with her nerves. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, and that was when the entire room was bathed in a deep red. 

The Goblet’s fire had turned a bloody scarlet, and sparks flew in all directions. Throughout the chaos, a small slip of parchment was launched into the air, and the occupants of the hall gasped as one. With skills uncommon of his age, Dumbledore’s hand shot out to snatch the piece of smoking parchment, and a great hush fell over the tables. With a jolt, Seraphine remembered the reason for this being the first triwizard tournament in __ years. The possibility of death had never seemed so real to her as it did in the moment that the Goblet of Fire glowed a brilliant red. She gripped Iliya’s hand so tightly in her own, that he whimpered in protest, but she barely heard him. Her entire being was focused on Dumbledore’s next words and the churning in her stomach. 

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.” 

 

Barley concealed surprise thudded through Seraphine as she blindly helped Viktor from his seat. Thunderous applause shook the Great Hall as he stumbled his way on duck-footed feet to the staff table where Karkaroff was banging his full goblet on the table with a mask of vicious victory. Viktor was patted on his back by several pleased looking staff members, and then he disappeared out of her sight as he descended the stairs into the champions chamber. Seraphine ought not to have been so shocked, but she couldn’t help but wonder why the Goblet had chosen Viktor when he was so unwilling. He had tried his best to throw a triumphant smile on his face when his name had been announced, but Seraphine and Iliya knew it was all off. Despite this, they both clapped him out of the hall and into the next chamber behind the table, and then settled down as the Goblet, once again, burned red. 

 

—

 

**_A/N_ ** _A few sentences have been taken directly from J.K.Rowling’s: Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, as I felt they captured what I was trying to write too perfectly to try to re-create. All familiar words are credited to her._


End file.
